Chapter One: Pigs And Linda
A new boy had moved in down the road from me, and being the only six
year old on the block I went down the road to investigate. The new boy was
with his parents in the backyard of their new home. They were chopping down
a tree. He was about my age and sported a peculiar U.S. Marine, regulation
length crew-cut, which made his ears stick out. And he was slightly bigger
than me.
"Hello, who's this we've got here?" said the father, in a friendly
sort of way. He had an English accent.
"I'm Will."
"How about that, Carol," said the father to his wife. He seemed surprised.
"We've got another William!"
Then the new boy came forward. "That's my name, too," he said, adding
a funny little laugh that went "heh-heh".
The moment we discovered we both had the same christian names we
immediately bonded and ran off to play.
We became best friends and stayed best friends for a long time. In
order to separate our identities we created a series of nicknames for each
other. Two names eventually stuck with us for a long time: they were "Pigs"
and "Piggeth". He was Pigs and I was Piggeth. I can't remember where we got
the names from.
But on that first day we didn't know each other, and I felt very insecure.
Pigs presented quite a problem for me. He looked tough, but his eager, friendly
personality - with that funny short laugh of his - made me feel he was really
a push-over: that, like a stag I could challenge this strange and threatening
new-comer and win, and thus confirm my lofty position in the world.
So the first day of our friendship ended when I pushed Pigs down the
embankment of a nearby paddock we had been playing in, and Pigs went running
off in tears to his parents.
In those early days of our friendship I was often cruel and aggressive
towards Pigs. There was some mysterious longing in me that could only be
fulfilled by venting my aggression on him. It seems a wonder to me now how
we ever remained friends for so long - or, rather, why Pigs continued to
forgive me. But the simple answer to that is, one time Pigs didn't forgive
me; and so I had to change or lose his friendship.
We had been playing out on the road, and as I watched Pigs standing
there, unaware, the malicious longing in me came out again and I ran up behind
him and slapped him hard across the face. Much to my surprise, this time,
instead of crying, Pigs got angry and tried to catch me. He chased me all
the way down the street. I was terrified. In the end, Pigs gave up the chase
when he heard his parents call him in for dinner, and I was lucky enough
to escape.
The next day, after some negotiating, Pigs returned again as my friend.
But now the lines had been drawn and he was more wary of me. And I was more
wary of him too.
From then on, Pigs and I were only rarely on hostile terms. We both
understood that a truce had silently been declared between us, and that it
was better not to test ourselves directly against each other. Instead, we
added a third element, one that we could challenge with little fear of serious
repercussion to our friendship - in fact one that could strengthen it: the
world.
And the world began for us with Pemberton paddock, the large open
paddock that lay spread out at the bottom of my parents' backyard, with its
creek, its pond, its trees and its grassy hillock. And above it was the secondary
school - Pemberton Secondary - that Pigs and I would one day be going to.
It was in Pemberton paddock that we climbed the trees, swung across the creek
on ropes and paddled in the pond on rubber tyres. Once, on the grassy hillock,
hopelessly outnumbered, standing side by side, we fought off hoards of boys
who threw rocks at us. We carried out our adventures together in a spirit
of mutual accomplishment; and whatever we discovered in our pursuits and
our playing there, whatever dangers - real or imagined - we faced there,
we shared them.
But despite our friendship, neither Pigs or I could stop things from
changing; and I glanced side-ways occasionally to note, with mounting envy,
Pigs' accomplishments compared to my own. His easy-going nature had gained
him more friends than I had. And at twelve years of age he suddenly made
it known to me that a new element had made its way out of the world and into
his life: he had a girlfriend.
This was Elizabeth. Elizabeth was, I thought, a fairly plain and chubby
redhead who lived up the road from Pigs and I.
I took this news as calmly as could be expected. After all, what was
she to me? And why should I care if my mate wanted to play with a girl? And
whatever could two twelve year olds do together, anyway? I was consoled by
the fact that he didn't see her that often, and that for the most part we
continued on in our adventures together. But on those few days when Pigs
would be away visiting Elizabeth, I would sit and wonder, and seeth with
resentment.
*
*
*
One day at around this time I was making my way up a hilly paddock
on the way home from a friend's place. It was raining, and before me there
was a muddy track that led up to a bank and onto the footpath and the road.
The paddock narrowed to become a vacant block at this point, flanked as it
was by houses that faced the road. As I passed through the vacant block,
Eddie's head appeared above the fence on the left.
Eddie was around my age, but he was a fairly small kid and he was
very quick and belligerent. For some reason he had taken a disliking to me,
and the last time I had gone through the paddock he had tried to stop me
getting through; but I had ignored him and walked right through. I didn't
expect him to appear this time because of the rain.
"Hey, you can't go through here!" he yelled. "This is private property.
What do you think you're doing?"
"Leave me alone," I said. "I'm just going home." I walked on a bit
further, hoping he would leave me alone.
He disappeared for a second, then he reappeared on the fence, this
time brandishing a cricket bat. He swung the bat a few times along the fence
and said, "Go back the other way, or I'll hit you."
That was something I wasn't going to do. I wasn't about to let the
little rat get the best of me. But if I made a dash forward towards the footpath
I knew Eddie would be sure to get there ahead of me and be waiting for me
with his bat. I was trapped; and the rain was still falling, soaking me -
and Eddie, but he didn't seem to mind it. I cursed him.
While we argued and cursed and threatened each other in the rain,
someone came down onto the road from her house to watch us. It was Linda,
a shy, slim, dark-haired girl of eleven years who just happened to be Elizabeth's
best friend. Although I had sworn to myself that I would never be interested
in girls after Pigs and Elizabeth had got together, I had to admit that I
did like Linda - she was kind of pretty. She lived in the house across the
road from the paddock, right above the vacant lot. She had quickly assessed
the situation and proceeded to direct furtive cries of moral support towards
me. I couldn't exactly make out what she said, but I understood the gist
of her words, and they made me feel stronger and more confident that I could
call Eddie's bluff. But I was also aware of Linda's interest in me, that
was revealed by her presence and her encouragement at this unusual
moment.
While I was struggling with these thoughts, Eddie suddenly came down
off his fence and confronted me with his bat. It was no bluff, after
all!
I looked up to see what Linda was doing, hoping she would call her
dad, or something. She darted nervously back and forth upon the bank and
she peered down at me through the long grass with a look of the utmost concern
on her face.
I looked down at Eddie's bat. I was scared: I thought Eddie was going
to hit me with that bat. Instead, he hit me with his fist - a soft punch
in the belly that didn't hurt at all. Then he ran off, laughing. I chased
after him, but he was too quick.
So I eventually emerged, rain-soaked, from the paddock, with nothing
hurt but my pride. Then Linda made a few steps towards me, and I regarded
her, still fuming and feeling indignant and very ridiculous.
"Are you alright?" she said softly.
I could tell she cared for me, it was unmistakable: I could see it
in her eyes. And why else would she have stayed out there, all that time
in the rain? She was just as soaked as I was.
"Yeah, I'm alright," I said gruffly.
We just stood there, shivering in the rain.
*
*
*
I had hardly spoken to Linda since that day when we faced each other
in the rain. Even when she came to Pemberton as a year seven student at the
start of my second year there, and I had plenty of opportunities to talk
to her, I remained silent. I knew she still liked me more than ever, but
I was frozen into inactivity over her. I tried to convince myself that I
was just waiting for the right moment to talk to her; but the fact was, I
was too shit-scared was all. I was afraid of revealing my feelings, or of
coming off like a dickhead - or some other stupid, deep psychological explanation
like that.
...Meanwhile, Pigs was still seeing that Elizabeth.
I had no real sense of us being drawn apart at the time. It was one
of those imperceptible things, really. It happened slowly, by degrees: like
the new way we had begun to greet one another whenever we passed in the corridor
or in the locker bay...
"Hullo, Mr Pig!"
"Hullo, Mr Pig!"
...And then we'd just walk on. It was friendly, but kind of
impersonal.
It didn't help that we had been put into different classes that year.
We could see each other at recess and lunchtimes, of course, but we rarely
actively sought each other out once we got used to our new classmates. We
were pretty much used to navigating the course of new friends and enemies
on our own by then; as a result, we both had a seperate bunch of new friends.
As time went on, I couldn't help noticing that cheery, friendly Pigs
had accumulated many more friends than I had. I began to wonder if maybe
something was wrong with me - why couldn't I get as many friends as he? As
if to compensate for those feelings, I started going around trying to "collect"
new friends whenever I could. It was kind of like, "Will you be my friend?"
I didn't really care about who I made friends with, or even if those friendships
were pretty shallow: just as long as I had more to add to my list. It was
a pretty dumb thing to do, really, when I think about it - "Will you be my
friend? If you don't, I'll bash you up!"
The truth was...I still had those feelings of competitiveness towards
Pigs; I had never gotten rid of them. I was still trying to push him down
that embankment, still trying to claim my lofty position in the world, above
him. And my jealousy and antagonism towards him grew so intense and became
so obvious that, one day, we had a huge argument. The weird thing is, I don't
even remember what it was about (something trivial, no doubt); but I do remember
it was during our annual School Athletics Day, which was held on Hookey Reserve,
the oval on the other side of the hill from my parents'. Standing there,
trading insults, spurred on by our audience, neither of us wanting to back
down, we managed to talk each other into having a fight after school.
After we had been dismissed at school I walked back down to the oval,
accompanied by some of my new friends, who boasted to each other about what
I was going to do to Pigs - how I was going to kick his arse. I knew they
were trying to fire me up - my "trainers" - but all I could think of was
that I was going to have a fight with my former best friend; it had come
to that.
When we arrived, the place was swarming with kids. Word had got around
pretty quickly. Pigs was already waiting for me, standing uncertainly among
a group of his own friends and "trainers", who - like mine - were giving
him fiery words of encouragement. I walked down the embankment and jumped
over the wire perimeter fence to shouts of, "Here he is!" and, "It's on!"
With the continued encouragement from my trainers, and the cheering and yelling
from the crowd, I suddenly felt the hot surge of blood through my veins,
swelling my confidence to recklessness, convincing me of the rightness of
my cause.
As if on cue, the crowd moved back when I finally turned to face Pigs,
and for a brief moment, before we clashed, we looked into each other's eyes.
In Pigs, my old friend, my old enemy, I saw fear. His eyes were nervous,
shifting back and forth, barely making contact with my own. I felt a supreme
confidence and strength in myself then: there was no longer any doubt or
uncertainty. The crowd were shouting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" expecting blood;
and I was going to give it to them, if I could.
The crowd gave one long cheer as I moved in on Pigs and swung a few
crooked punches at him, which mostly hit him in the chest. Then I tried lower,
getting a couple in the stomach, but mostly contacting with his arms. Pigs
was defending himself, hardly fighting at all. I cuffed him around the forehead
a few times and still he didn't fight back. Just as I was about to line up
what I hoped would be a devastating blow to that big jaw of his, he suddenly
made a rush at me and caught me in a bear hug. My arms were pinned against
his body at first, but I finally got them free and wrapped them around his
back.
As we struggled in that embrace and I felt Pigs' superior strength
tighten against me, I had the ludicrous thought of pinning Pigs' ears back,
when or if I got the chance. I had heard the phrase being used once before
(I thought it may have come from an old Bugs Bunny cartoon, but I wasn't
sure) and the idea had always appealed to me. I realised it was physically
impossible to do, but I thought I could at least do the next best thing:
I could pull his ears.
The crowd were becoming restless now as we groaned and grunted with
our efforts, and someone yelled out, "Look at the poofs!" followed by laughter.
That was pretty embarrassing, I thought. I tried to unbalance Pigs, but he
wouldn't budge. Now I could smell the strong, oily odour that Pigs had always
given off. It was what I always imagined whale fat would smell like...Yuk,
I couldn't stand it! I wanted to get out of that bear hug, I wanted to get
away from that smell! Finding hidden reserves of strength in that revulsion,
I reapplied my efforts and managed to unbalance Pigs and throw him to the
ground.
"Wow, he threw him!" said one of my supporters, Ricky Carson, in
admiration.
As Pigs tried to get back up I jumped on him and pinned him to the
ground. Now was my chance. I grabbed hold of them big piggy ears that were
sticking out, and pulled.
"Hee hee, he's pulling his ears!" said Ricky Carson, delighted.
Underneath me, and undetected by the crowd, Pigs was quietly whimpering.
I got off him so that he could get up. But I wasn't quite finished yet: there
was one more thing that I wanted to do, and I did it...While Pigs was still
leaning over, hiding his tears from the crowd, I swung my fist up in an arc
under his face, and with a mighty "crack", finally connected with that big
jaw. Pigs went down heavily. The crowd went, "Oooh!" at the sound of the
crack, and the fight was over.
For a few moments I was aware of nothing outside of myself. I didn't
see the amused or the awed faces around me - though, perhaps I imagined them.
Nor did I see those who were simply horrified, or the others still who had
nothing but contempt for me - who I didn't imagine at all. All else disappeared
as I stood there, above Pigs, totally absorbed in my own thoughts, savouring
the moment, this great and significant deed. At last I was a giant among
men - the King Of The World, the Great Hero.
Quite a few minutes seemed to pass before I became aware of my supporters
congratulating me, and the crowd slowly dispersing.
It was only after I headed for home with the others that I discovered
my knuckles were bleeding. They, and the skin, had been cut on Pigs' teeth.
It hurt like hell; but it was a small price to pay for such a devastating
victory, I thought.
Ahead of me some of Pigs' friends were helping him along, tending
his wounds and offering words of consolation. Elizabeth was there, and so
- to my surprise - was Linda. She had witnessed the fight. I was glad: now
she had seen me in my true colours - not like that time before, when that
little pipsqueak, Eddie, made me look like a real wimp in front of her. Maybe
this was just the confidence booster I needed to finally make my move on
her.
When I got closer to them it seemed to me that Linda was being consoled
as well. Elizabeth and some of her other friends were gathered around her,
and it looked like she was crying. I couldn't understand it, I wondered what
she was crying about.
When I got close enough to hear, I distinctly heard Linda say: "I
don't love him anymore..."
It was only after a couple of seconds that I realised who she was
talking about. When the understanding came I was both shocked and saddened.
What had I done to deserve this?!...Then, somehow I blocked it all out, I
cut off all my feelings for her. I managed to tell myself that I didn't care,
that I didn't need Linda - I had the memory of a glorious fight to keep me
warm forever. I went home only slightly troubled by those few words, uttered
through sobbing tears.
*
*
*
The school year continued on, as usual, and soon the fight became
just another dim memory for all concerned. I, myself, had managed to block
it out almost completely. But Pigs and Linda never spoke to me again; and
eventually, they both completely slipped out of my life forever. I soon tired
of my so-called "friends" - or they tired of me - and slowly I began to prefer
the quiet calm of reading a book or listening to music, to the risk and strain
of new friendships and putting all those raging hormones to the test. In
short, without even knowing it, I became a withdrawn and isolated teenager.
It was only much later, somewhere in the midst of all the isolation,
that the memory of that fight - that one little incident - began to return
to my thoughts and I began to see it for what it really was: just an ugly
and awkwardly fought little battle that neither Pigs or I had ever really
wanted. At the time I had thought it was a glorious battle I had won, I had
thought I was the hero; but in fact, I had lost - I had lost everything.
And the fight had not been glorious, and I was nothing but a stupid, bullying,
coward of a failure. When I realised what I was and what I had lost in that
fight and could never get back, I grew sick at heart. I lost all interest
in everything then - even in being a teenager. I just wanted to curl up into
a little ball and die; which is, more or less, what I did.
6: true